Perfect
by The Mad Poet
Summary: Hurt by his brother's anger, a young Ken receives a vist from someone who 'loves' him. . . A precursor to my Darkest Days story arc (up soon, I hope); and rated for angst. PLEASE R+R!!!!!


**DISCLAIMER:** I do NOT own Digimon or related chars. Damn. I do however own any original  
creatures, characters, and concepts, including this dumb fic. And while there's not much I  
could actually do to you should you for some reason steal my crap, I WILL put a hex on you. So THERE.  
**Author's Note:** I may be able to put up the first chapter of Darkest Days soon. So, I offer this as a stand-alone within that particular storyline, and as a sort of early prelude to the madness.  


  


**~Perfect~**  


  
The small form lay curled on his narrow bed in the fetal position, knees drawn up against the scuffed off-lavender t-shirt, and one pale hand--the fingers still soft and rounded in youth but showing the first signs, perhaps, of some future grace--pressed softly, protectively over the spreading darkness of a bruise on his tear-damp cheek. Eyes squeezed shut, he bit his thin lip, curling up tighter with a shudder as the door down the hall slammed violently closed. He hadn't meant. . .he hadn't meant any harm, he hadn't meant to make his brother mad, but. . .but. . .  
  
_"But he's always had something against you, little one. . ."   
_  
The boy jolted slightly, even at the soft, soothing familiar tone that curled the air around him--sibilant and smooth; like static, and like distant waves on the sands. . . vast and old and knowing as the spaces between stars. His lip trembled, and he sniffled slightly, as though trying to pull the tears back from where they had fallen, a wet splotch of dark on the white of his sheets.  
  
_"It's alright. . ." _There was no touch, just a prescence--and the words and voice embraced him though there were no arms to do so. _"It's alright, you can talk to me, cry to me, confide in me. . .I'm not like them, Ken. . .I know you, I understand you. . .I Love you so, so much. . ." _He really could feel it. . .the words drawing him close and warm and comforting; and Ken clung to that, he held on to it as hard as he could.  
  
"It. . .it's not fair. . ." it came out a whimper, a faint soft cry, muffled by his face pressing into the damp cotton covers. "It's not fair. . .I just wanted to see his toy. . .Osamu always gets everything anyway. . ." He choked, a faint strangled sob escaping him. "Why does he hate me?! Why should he hate me, when everyone loves him and he has everything?!"  
  
_"Ah. . .hush now, Ken. . .he does not hate you. . ."  
  
_"Yes. . Yes he does. . ." Ken curled up tighter, miserable. "He _hates_ me. . .I'm not good enough and I'm not smart enough, and I never will be.. .that's why he hates me. . ." He paused, gripping the sheets tightly, twisting them in his hand. "That's. . .why everyone hates me. . ."  
  
_"Ken. . .my little Ken, I do not hate you. . .I do not hate you, I will always be here for you. . ."  
  
_"But everybody else. . .Mom and Dad and. . .and Osamu. . ." But really. . .'Mom' and 'Dad' were meaningless by now. . . just two more strangers hovering around his big brother--praising Osamu, loving Osamu, proud of Osamu. . .and never even noticing that Ken was alive. Osamu was the only one that mattered. . .beacause Osamu hated him, yes. Osamu hated him, but at least that meant Osamu knew he was there. . .  
  
_"Your mother and father, Ken?" _The voice was a gentle purr, now-- lulling, calming; utterly convincing. _"Who are they? They aren't anyone at all. . . When was the last time they were important to you?"   
  
_"They. . ." Ken opened his eyes--red with tears; more hollow, more empty than they should be at such a young age, the strange frost-blue and lavender broken and disillusioned. When had they been important? He remembered them ignoring his tears, his hurts, his every word; he remembered his mother forgetting time and again to set him a place at the table. Forgetting to kiss him goodnight. Forgetting his name. Forgetting who's child he was. . .  
  
Squeezing his eyes shut again before the tears came back, he shook his head violently. "They aren't. . .they weren't."  
  
_"You see, Ken?" _For a moment, something _did_ brush his cheek. . .a soft touch, a gentle caress that wiped the tears away. _"You see, I'm the only one, Ken. The only one who really knows, who really cares to know. . .But don't you worry Ken, because I will always be here for you. . ."  
  
_His eyes relaxed, and he almost opened one--it showed as a strange small slit of indigo-azure and pale lavender, blurred with a few stray teardrops. "You. . .you promise. . .?"  
  
_"Would I lie to you, Ken. . .?" _The voice did not sound hurt or offended. . .only maybe a bit amused, and still so, so reassuring. _"Would I ever lie to you, my dear, dear Ken, when I know you so completely and love you so very much because of it? Your every flaw, your every uncertainty. All those. . .dark little corners no one else knows about, and the harsh violent urges. All the times you lure strays to you with a treat in hand--"  
  
_The eyes opened, then, afraid. "No. . ."_  
  
"--and then kick them until they somehow run away or they--"  
  
_"No. . ." He buried his face in the pillow again, trembling. "S. ..stop it. . ."_  
  
"--die with a whimper and blood frothed on their dirty mongrel lips, matting their dirty bug-ridden mongrel coats."  
  
_"No. . ." the word came out a sob and a groan, into the wet pillow. "No. .stop, please. . . "  
  
But the voice _didn't_ stop, it continued--calm and loving and so perfectly comforting, except for the words that should have been icy instead of warm and affectionate. "_And you look at them and you think how much everyone deserves that. You look at them and you picture mother or father, or that dirty dark tutor that came for Osamu that one time a few years ago, the one with the sharp tongue and the roaming eyes and hands--"  
  
_"Please. . .!"   
  
_"Or even Ryo, once or twice; when your parents weren't home and he came to see Osamu instead of you, and they dissapeared for hours. Even Osamu--"  
  
_"NO! No, not them. . .! Never. . .! I. . ." His voice broke on the denial, fell into an incoherent sobbing. "I never. . .never. . ."  
  
_"and you smile. You have such a beautiful smile, Ken, and such sweet laughter. . ."  
  
_"Stop. . .please, please stop_. . ._I know I'm horrible. . .I _know_.. ."  
  
"_No, Ken. . .no my dear, my precious little Ken. You are not horrible. No matter what Osamu says, what anyone says you are not horrible. . .you are only honest, and you are only true to yourself, and for all of that I love you more."  
_  
He did not respond to that. . .only dull tears sobbed into the pillow, and a shudder as that soft, shivering cold carress stroked his damp cheek again.  
  
_"You are perfect in my eyes, Ken. . .I know you, and I love you, and you will always, always be perfect in my eyes. . ."_  
  
He was still crying softly, still clutching the pillow when his eyes became heavy, and the world swam away. "Perfect. . ." The word slipped away drowsily, slurred with sleep as his eyes fell closed, and he slept the sleep of all weeping children, lulled by that loving mantra.  
  
Beside him the someone unseen laughed softly--in his dreams Ken drowned in static waters suddenly, the waves pressed his mouth open and slid down his throat with the taste of blood. "_Yes, my dear Ken. . . perfect. Absolutely. . .perfect."_


End file.
